


Breaking Point

by PenguinofProse



Series: Season 7 speculation [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 7.12: The Stranger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashed Bellamy, Clarke Griffin breaks, Disciple Bellamy, Episode speculation: 7.13 Blood Giants, F/M, S7 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: S7 speculation. Exploring Clarke's state of mind from 7.12 onwards. Angst and heavy mental health with an optimistic ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Season 7 speculation [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783594
Comments: 30
Kudos: 144





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a story about season seven and about what might be going on in Clarke's head right now. This starts just after that scene in Clarke and Octavia's dorm in 7.12. Happy reading!
> 
> Please note that this story is rated for material about depression and suicide. For a more specific content note (includes spoilers), please head to the end of the fic.

_Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She tries to remind herself of that, as she walks down the hallway between two guards. She tries to remind herself of it, as her hands shake and her ears ring. She tries to remind herself of it, as she hears Bellamy's voice echo in the empty space.

"They all hate me." He says, in a whisper that carries further than he probably intended.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

But she nearly does, actually, when she hears him say that. He sounds so lost, so lonely. She supposes that's probably how he felt on Etherea, too, before that experience that changed him and reshaped him into someone she scarcely recognises. She ought to recognise him clearly, given he's shaved and cut his hair and looks every inch the man she thought she was calling from Earth for six years. But it will take more than a haircut to make him the Bellamy she knows and loves.

She hates herself for not understanding him better. It's as simple as that. He was _crying_ , damn it, voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheeks.

And she looked him in the eyes and told him to go float himself.

She's not proud of that – not in the slightest. But in her defence, she thinks she might have reached breaking point.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

What a load of crap. She's watched friend after friend die before her very eyes, survived the end of the world, and been betrayed by the people she loves more times than she cares to count. She's just lost her mother to a body-snatcher, survived a near-death experience, and now her best friend has returned from the dead but left half of himself behind him on Etherea.

Of course she's going to break. Anyone would.

…...

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She chants it to herself, as she lies in the chair in MCAP. She can't break – she refuses to give the flame to a madman who wants to start a war and hurt people she loves.

She refuses to give the flame to the man who took Bellamy – _her_ Bellamy – away from her.

She's shaking before they have even dialled up the frequency and started raiding her mind. She supposes that the shakes might have more to do with horror and heartbreak than to do with MCAP, now she comes to think about it.

She throws her head against the sides of the restraint when they start trying to steal her memories. Octavia told her about that – apparently it's what Diyoza tried, wisdom passed on from one determined mother for another's use, now. There's no way Clarke is letting them in. There's no way she's letting them see Sanctum or the home she shares with Madi. It's simply not an option.

She keeps shaking her head, keeps drawing blood, keeps embracing the pain.

It hurts. It hurts more than anything, a raw kind of pain that shoots straight from her head to the depths of her heart. It hurts because she's bleeding and wincing, sure. But it hurts most of all because she knows that Bellamy is just standing there and watching it happen.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

Not even in the face of pain like this.

She cannot afford to break. People die when she falls apart.

…...

The pain stops – or rather, it stops getting _worse_. Her head is sore and her heart is thumping and yes, she can feel it, she's still shaking.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

"I'm sorry Bellamy. You did what you could."

That's Cadogan's voice, and it has Clarke's torture-hazy mind trying to work something out. Bellamy did what he could? What does that mean? What's he been up to, behind the scenes?

She stops wondering that when Cadogan continues. "Send the first of her friends to Penance."

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

"Wait." She begs, urgent.

She _negotiates_. That's what's happening here, not breaking. She always knew it would come down to something like this – Cadogan holds the trump card, thanks to Bellamy. If only she could have got everyone out of here before she gave herself up for their safety.

"I'll take you to it. But only once all my friends are safe."

"Done." Cadogan concedes easily, sweeping from the room.

There's a beat of silence. Clarke wonders if she is to be allowed out of this damn chair now. But perhaps it's for the best that she's still strapped down – she's worried her legs might give way, if she tries to stand.

Then Bellamy dares to speak. "It didn't have to be like this."

She thinks about that, as best she can through the clouds of pain and fear and heartbreak. She thinks about their story – the way they so often seem to find themselves on opposite sides when it really matters. She thinks of the way that she loses everyone she loves, sooner or later, through death or distance or betrayal.

She thinks of hugging him tight, relieved to find him alive, and having her heart ripped out of her chest in return.

"Yes it did." She tells him, because that looks a lot like the truth, from where she's sitting.

Clarke Griffin does break, it turns out. Just a little bit. But she doesn't dissolve into frantic tears until Bellamy has left the room, so she decides that it hardly even counts.

She gathers the tatters of her courage, the last few strands of her sanity, and sets about making a new plan. She needs to think her way out of this, needs to use her head.

After all, it's not like her heart is much use right now.

…...

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She's got her game face back on, more or less, by the time they set out for Sanctum. Sure, she still stares at Bellamy a little too often, but that's the habit of a lifetime and she doesn't suppose there's much to be done about that now.

She's angry when Cadogan sends her friends away, but not particularly surprised. If this man will stoop to turning Bellamy against her, it seems no wonder that he would do this, now.

She definitely does think of it as _turning Bellamy against her_ , for all he says about an experience and about seeing the light on that mountain. The Bellamy she used to know would be perfectly capable of seeing a light without betraying the people he loved, she maintains.

But then she thinks back to Pike, and she's not so sure.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

The words spring into her mind, quite unbidden. She feels immediately guilty – it's true, she's shown no faith in him, since he came back from Etherea. She's given up on him, in a way she swore she never would after Polis. He was right to remind her that he refused to give up on her.

She just doesn't know what to think. She's not even sure she knows _how_ to think any more. All she seems to know how to do is shake and try not to cry.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She's almost relieved to be greeted by utter chaos in Sanctum. It's ridiculous, but that's genuinely her first thought. Messy politics and people pointing guns – that's what she's familiar with. She knows how to fix that, even if she doesn't know how to fix Bellamy.

And anyway, an arrogant voice whispers in her mangled memories – what's wrong with a little chaos?

…...

The chaos gets worse when the eclipse strikes, and Clarke takes strength from it. That's just the kind of twisted Commander of Death she is, it turns out – she thrives on uncertainty and the threat of violence, knows what she's doing in any situation where peace teeters on a knife-edge.

Bellamy looks lost. He looks even more lost, now, than he looked when he showed up in her room and reminded her he never gave up on her.

She ignores him, because she doesn't know what else to do. She'll start shaking again if she looks at him too long, start sinking and splintering and falling apart.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

"We need to ride out the eclipse before we can do anything else. Before we can discuss peace or terms or kneeling." Clarke tells both Cadogan and Sheidheda, firm and insistent. This is no time for cowering in fear before these two men.

"The eclipse?" Cadogan sounds confused.

"The red sun releases a toxin." Bellamy steps up to explain. "It makes the bugs go crazy, and then it makes the people go crazy. Hallucinations, trying to hurt each other."

Cadogan nods, evidently more convinced by Bellamy than by Clarke. She sighs in relief slightly – it's good that he still has her back, at least a little, at least on something so minor.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

His voice whispers in her memories.

No. Not now, not here. This is not the moment for remembering how to love him. This is the moment for making plans.

"The rebels are safe near the reactor? They're sealed in?" She checks.

Murphy nods.

"Lead Wonkru to the caves. They'll be safe there."

"And what of our new guests?" Sheidheda asks, a mockingly polite tilt to his head.

"We can stay in the school and the tavern. There are restraints there – we used them last time." Bellamy suggests.

Clarke nods, pleased. She sends everyone on their way, giving instructions even if she has no right to give orders here. She follows Bellamy and Cadogan towards the school – somehow, it never even occurs to her to class herself as a rebel or a member of Wonkru. If Bellamy is here, then that's where she's going to ride out the storm, too.

Only then she runs out of things to do. She runs out of orders to give, runs out of chaos to manage. She finds herself staring down the barrel of something more frightening than a gun – the prospect of sitting through the eclipse in proximity to Bellamy or Cadogan, or perhaps even both.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

We'll see about that.

…...

Bellamy takes charge of allocating rooms to the different members of their small party. Clarke leaves him to it – she figures that there's no point trying to make her authority felt, here. Presumably she will end up locked to the wall near Cadogan, in the hopes that she might say something useful or revealing in her madness.

"My Shepherd, you should take the tavern with Gabriel, Raven and Conductor Doucette." Bellamy instructs him.

Clarke tries not to cry at his tone – almost _grovelling_ , she thinks. She hates seeing Bellamy debase himself like this in his devotion. What happened to the man who didn't take orders from anyone?

"Where will you go, Bellamy?" Cadogan asks.

"I'll be safe in the school with Clarke." She looks up sharply at that, in time to catch his eye. He doesn't look away, and that surprises her.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

She nods, just a little. He might have changed his allegiance and his outfit, but he's still Bellamy. Even after his recent betrayal, she cannot think of anyone she would rather share the red sun chaos with. That's probably why this hurts so much.

He tried to kill her last time they faced the red sun together. She shouldn't trust him. She's mad to trust him – he just keeps betraying her, time after time after time.

But thinking about that makes her hands start shaking again, so she follows him willingly into the school.

…...

Clarke and Bellamy sit in silence for a long time. They've chained themselves up and swapped keys, and now they have nothing to do but wait for the hallucinations to strike.

Clarke hates it. There was a time when she and Bellamy never ran out of things to say to each other, but silence between them was comfortable if that was what they chose. This isn't comfortable in the slightest. It's stifling, suffocating.

It reminds her of a scorching hot desert and a gun held to her temple.

That's stupid, of course. She's not alone on a burning planet, here. She's safely on a world of green with the man who used to be her best friend only yards away. But she _feels_ alone. She feels hopeless and confused, and her damn hands just will not stop shaking.

Bellamy doesn't seem to care. His eyes are fixed on his feet, impassive.

She's done with this. She's so done with it – done with life and done with love, most of all.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She heaves in a desperate breath, tries to compose herself. This isn't the desert. She's going to be OK. She has Madi – her precious girl, locked away next to a nuclear reactor. Clarke hasn't even been able to see her yet, and she's beginning to doubt she ever will.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

Another desperate breath, another gulp of oxygen. It's not enough, not reaching her lungs. The trembling in her hands is growing worse. She's going to -

"You doing alright?" Bellamy asks her, with apparent genuine concern.

"What do you think?" She snaps, startled.

"I don't want -"

"Remember the last time you locked me up?" The words are out of her mouth before she can think better of them.

He looks hurt. Of course he does. Well, he's welcome to join the club, she thinks sourly. They can both keep each other company in their heartache.

"I'm doing this for your own good." He whispers, eyes already shining with tears.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

No. No, she can't afford to think like that. She needs to think of a way to save her friends and save Madi.

She wonders if there's a way to save Bellamy, too.

"You thought it was for my own good last time. With Pike." She reminds him, bitter.

"This is nothing like Pike."

"They tortured your sister, Bellamy!" She bursts out, angry.

He's silent for a while. Those tears spill over, a few of them rolling down his cheeks, but he makes no effort to wipe them away. Clarke isn't crying, strangely. She notices that with a cold sort of detachment. She's just sitting here, shaking, existing.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

At last, Bellamy tries again.

"I thought you would understand." He whispers, broken. "I thought you of all people would understand. I thought you'd care. I thought you'd want to hear what happened to me."

So maybe Clarke breaks a tiny bit at that. Just a slither, just a hint of raw emotion seeping through the cracks.

"I want to." She admits, and now the tears come thick and fast. "I do, Bellamy. I want to. But I'm not doing too well."

"I get that it must be hard for you."

She nods, although that's not what she meant by _not doing too well_. She didn't just mean she was struggling to understand him – she meant she was _struggling_ , full stop. End of story.

Bellamy speaks up again. "It's hard for me too. Why do we keep finding ourselves on different sides? No matter what happens, it feels like we always end up here."

Maybe it's the tears that make her say it. Maybe it's the grief in his eyes. Or maybe it's the hole in her heart, and her desperate need to tell him something of the truth.

Perhaps it's just that some of his old optimism has rubbed off on her, and she still has hope, so long as he's still breathing.

"You're asking the wrong question." She informs him calmly. "What you should really be asking is why we always forgive each other when all's said and done."

_I am asking you to believe in me._

It seems like part of her still does, whether she likes it or not.

…...

Clarke cannot pinpoint the exact moment the red sun toxin hits. She seems to remember she and Bellamy were finally having a useful conversation about understanding and forgiveness, and then she thinks she recalls some thoughtful silence. But now all she knows is screaming, weeping, hysteria.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

The screams are not hers. She has no intention of acting out in her madness. She turns her fury inwards, finds herself thinking of that day in the desert all over again.

She has some memory of her mother's voice on a radio, telling her to end it all. She recalls the desert wind taunting her, and a lifetime of loneliness stretching out before her.

She thinks of the man sitting opposite her, betraying her. Hurting her, reminding her she's alone. People die when she's in charge. She got Wells killed. She got Lexa killed. She got Finn killed.

She got her mum killed.

The world is better off without her. Madi is better off without her. 

She casts about her, searches for a tool she can use. There are no scalpels here, but there's a pair of scissors. They're school scissors, a little on the blunt side, but they will serve her purpose.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

But she does kill, and she does make hard choices.

That's when she hears the voice.

"I can't let you kill Clarke."

It's raw, throaty, yet surprisingly loud. She looks up, searches the room, wonders where it's coming from.

"I can't let you kill Clarke." That's Bellamy, almost growling. That's strange, she thinks – in as much as she is capable of thinking, just now. He looks funny, grimacing like that. And why is he talking about her like she's not there?

"I can't let you kill Clarke."

She ignores him, gets back to investigating her scissors. If she can just get them -

"I won't let you die." His voice is louder, now, more insistent.

She's confused. Why does Bellamy care whether she dies? He betrayed her. He's happier without her around, with his faith and his light instead.

"I won't let you die, Clarke. I won't let you die."

He seems to be making an awful lot of noise, now. It's not just the shouting – he's rattling at his chains, too, tugging and making quite a scene.

Silly of him. Doesn't he understand that she's not worth it? She's never caused him anything but trouble – he said that just now, or as good as. What was that about how they always end up on different sides?

She turns the scissors in her hands. It's difficult to concentrate on the scissors, for some reason. They're swimming in and out of focus. But she needs to concentrate on the scissors, needs to -

Firm hands seize her wrists.

"I won't let you die." Bellamy tells her with utter conviction.

She tries to pull her hands away from him. She's dropped her scissors. Where are her scissors?

"I need you."

She fights him harder, tugs and tugs, but his grip is tight. She thrashes her whole body, bucks and shakes and tries to shrug him off.

"I need you."

He pushes her to the floor and kneels over her, effectively holding her fast. It brings up a memory Clarke can't quite place. When else did he kneel over her, shouting foolish lies?

Oh, yes. The last red sun.

"I need you, Clarke."

She stops fighting him, surrenders to the fuzziness stealing over her brain.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

But she does admit defeat, sometimes. Especially where Bellamy Blake is concerned.

…...

When Clarke starts to gain awareness of her surroundings once again, she is confused. Bellamy is kneeling above her, brows creased in concern and confusion. His chains are lying partly over her chest, still attached to his wrists. She follows to the end of the chain with her eyes, sees a sharp spike with crumbs of plaster still adhering to it. She'd say he pulled it straight of the wall, if she had to guess.

She forces herself to sort through her memories, tries to remember what happened during the red sun madness.

Oh.

_Clarke Griffin doesn't break._

So much for that.

Bellamy looks uncomfortable, and she's not surprised. She supposes he probably only saved her because she knows where to find the flame.

Or maybe not.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

That's the look he has in his eyes, right now. The kind of discomfort that comes with trying to take care of someone you love even though they don't seem to love you any more.

Perhaps she's beginning to understand.

"You're still protecting me." She whispers, awestruck.

He takes that as his cue to climb off her, and she misses him right away. That's foolish, but it's the truth.

"Yeah. I guess it's a hard habit to break." He shrugs.

She's disappointed with that answer. She's disappointed, because they were trying to be honest with each other before the toxin got to them, and because the bottom line is that he just stopped her from killing herself. She thinks they can do better than awkward shrugs, now.

"Thank you. I get it now. You're trying to save me – us." She corrects herself, flustered.

He nods, heavy.

She takes a risk. "Please tell me that going to war is not what you want?" She pleads, a deliberate reference to another time they found themselves at odds.

"I just want the fighting to be over. If this last war can deliver us -" He cuts himself off, shakes his head. "You don't get it. You weren't there. And that's OK." He swallows loudly. "I'll still try to take care of you."

She nods. "I'll try to be more understanding."

His eyes light up at that, and he even treats her to the slightest slither of a smile.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

She presses on, tries to convince herself to believe in him for just a little longer. To believe that the best friend she's so pathetically in love with is still in there, somewhere.

"About what you said earlier – how we keep ending up on different sides. We never really put things right after Polis, the way I see it. Sure, you saved my life from Josephine but – we never really talked. Tonight, just before the toxin – I feel like that was the first time in a long while we've really talked about how much we've hurt each other."

He nods right away, even as his eyes start to glisten with tears once more. Bellamy's always been driven by emotions, but she's not used to seeing him wear them so close to the surface like this.

Etherea broke him, she realises. He may claim that his faith has put the pieces back together again, but she's not so sure.

"Maybe we should try to talk more." He offers, jaw tight, eyes sad.

"I'd like that."

It's not quite placing her trust in him – she's not ready to do that, not so soon after he betrayed her.

But it's a start.

…...

Clarke tells Bellamy where the flame is buried – she even shows him, pointing from the other side of the garden – but she doesn't go with him to dig it up. She can't face it – can't face seeing the chip that cost Lexa her life, that so nearly killed Madi, and that somehow saved the human race all the same. Most of all she can't face seeing her mother's ring, and holding back the tears, and trying to will her hands to stop shaking.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She wonders if Bellamy will even recognise the ring, when he sees it buried there. Abby wore it for years but she doesn't know whether he ever bothered looking closely at it. That hurts more than anything, somehow – Bellamy has been her closest friend for so long, yet still it feels like they barely know each other.

Maybe that's just her most recent heartbreak talking.

Clarke stays in the house while he works. It's only days since she was last here – although Bellamy has lived months in that time. And yet those dreams she had of finding a happy family life here with Madi and her friends seem so foolishly outdated, now.

Bellamy makes quick work of digging up the flame and then they're leaving. Specifically, leaving Sanctum altogether, back to Bardo, without even a moment to greet Madi.

That's probably a good thing. Leaving Madi out of it keeps her safe. But all the same Clarke misses her. She misses her so much it hurts, stabs at her chest, sets her hands to shaking all over again.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

Or maybe she's already broken. Maybe that's why Bellamy is watching her so closely, as if ready to restrain her next time she so much as looks at a pair of scissors.

…...

Clarke finds that she is given a lot more freedom when she returns to Bardo – or rather, the appearance of a lot more freedom. Raven and Gabriel, too, are allowed to roam the halls and eat meals in the canteen whenever they are not working on the flame. It's amazing how much more relaxed Cadogan is when he has hostages for their good behaviour, Clarke thinks.

She's finding that she thinks a little more clearly again, now, and that her hands are a little more steady. The immediate problem of fixing the flame has given her something to focus on. She's no engineer, but she's had that thing in her head, her lover's head and her daughter's head, so she's the closest thing they have to an expert consultant. And if she does a good job, and the flame is fixed, then her friends is safe - so that sharpens her focus, as well.

And yeah, maybe talking to Bellamy rather more is helping with her clarity and sanity, too. She only ever tends to break when he's not around, she notes sadly – or when he is around but not truly _present_. She's still angry with him, because she can't overlook his betrayal. But she's trying her best to be understanding of his newfound faith, and she certainly aims to make conversation whenever he chooses to sit with her at mealtimes.

"You feeling OK?" He asks her quietly, all concern, as he stirs his porridge this morning.

"Will you stop asking me that? I'm fine. It was just the red sun. I'm not really – not – I'm _fine_."

"If you're not fine, you could tell me. I'd try to help you through it."

She thinks of the last time she told him something, trusted him to help her out. But then she thinks, too, of the way he held her down and told her he needed her during the red sun. She's sure the words don't mean much – he must have been seeing things just as she was – but the actions speak for themselves, she thinks.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

She hesitates. Opens her mouth – to say what, she's not quite sure, but to say _something_. To beg him to understand her, in turn, or to tell him that maybe she's not fine. To trust him to do the right thing with her precious secret.

She clamps her jaw shut, gives a tight-lipped smile. She can't tell him, and that's that.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

…...

Cadogan was always going to get impatient eventually. Clarke can see that, even if Bellamy thinks that he is some kind of saviour. So she's hardly surprised when he starts piling on the pressure, demanding that the flame be repaired quicker, chastising Raven and Gabriel for what he perceives as their failure.

Clarke is frustrated. She's scared. She's shaking, hands trembling, thoughts scrambled.

So much for feeling better.

She doesn't bother attempting to survive the dining hall. She goes back to her room and slumps on the bed and wonders how the hell she is going to save her friends.

She's surprised when there is a knock at her door. She does not have any particular friends here – no one does. She loves Raven, of course, but they are hardly encouraged to make social calls to one another.

"Who is it?" She calls, tentative, wiping tears from her eyes. She doesn't remember crying, but she doesn't remember much about the last hour at all if she's being honest.

"Me. Bellamy." He clarifies, as if she might not recognise his voice by now.

"Come in."

He opens the door, then stands just inside the threshold, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot.

"What is it?" She asks, tactless and to the point. She wants to be understanding towards him, really she does, but she's struggling a bit at the moment.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

She frowns. It's obviously not nothing.

He admits defeat with a sigh and continues. "I got worried when you weren't at supper. I wanted to check that – that you're doing OK."

"I'm fine." She lies. "Just stressed about the flame."

He nods, stiff. She notices for the first time that the shadows under his eyes seem to have grown darker, since he got back from Etherea, rather than fading away like she might have expected now that he is safe.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He offers, voice carefully controlled.

That's when she loses her cool. OK, sure – perhaps even _snaps_.

"Why did you tell him?" She demands, and she knows that he knows what she is talking about. "We could have had everyone safely back in Sanctum by now. We could have -"

"Not you." He interrupts her, firm.

"What did you just say?"

"Not you. Even if he sent the others back, you'd still be here. He'd have – he'd have killed you."

She gapes, stunned. "I thought you didn't care about individuals any more." She reminds him.

"I'm not very good at giving up caring about you." He presses on before she can even begin to process that. "I think the Shepherd would have wanted to keep an eye on your friends anyway. At least this way I can protect you."

That annoys her, for all that there's a confession of how much he cares about her tangled up in it. She's annoyed that he thinks of breaking their deal and sending her people away as simply _keeping an eye on_ his former friends.

"And serve the Shepherd." Bellamy adds, flustered.

It sounds like an afterthought, Clarke thinks. In fact, it takes her a moment to figure out that it belonged with his previous explanation.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

She wonders if, maybe, she might just be starting to have a go at trying that. He betrayed her, sure. But the more she practises understanding, the more she can see that he had his reasons. That's always the way of it, isn't it? There are always two sides to every story.

But damn it, she much prefers it when she and Bellamy are on the same side.

She thinks about this whole conversation. She thinks about the warmth and concern and sadness in Bellamy's eyes. She thinks about him rushing here to check on her when she didn't appear at supper – even though he's currently grappling with a religion that doesn't believe in personal love.

"I failed you." She tells him, voice cracking. "I should have protected you. You have always protected me, and I let you go to Etherea on your own."

"That's not your fault." He rushes to assure her. "You couldn't have known. No one could."

There's a pause. They both breathe too loudly in the silence.

"And I found my faith." He adds, determined.

Yeah, it sounds like an afterthought again that time, too.

But she doesn't stop to dwell on that. She can't, because all of a sudden Bellamy is hugging her, his arms tightening around her back and his nose coming to rest somewhere near her neck. He's breathing deeply, holding onto her as if he never wants to let go.

He's hugging her like he always used to, all heart and hope, and it feels like home.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

She wonders all of a sudden what exactly it is that Bellamy believes in, right now. Because for a man who supposedly puts his faith in Bill Cadogan and that inhuman bid to save humanity, he seems to be acting awfully like he cares about her, Clarke thinks.

…...

He shows up at her room the next night, too. He doesn't hug her this time. He just asks how she's doing, and makes conversation for about fifty seconds, and then leaves.

The following day, he appears at the door earlier in the evening and invites her to walk to supper with him.

By the next night, she's got the door open before he's even finished knocking.

And later that week, when he asks her if she's OK? Well, this time it's not _entirely_ a lie, when she says that she's fine.

…...

They fix the flame before Cadogan makes good on his threats, and find themselves on the point of facing the last war. The last war, it transpires, is to be fought on Earth – now rejuvenated. And also, conveniently, where Cadogan sent Clarke's friends in the first place – it's almost as if he planned it this way, she seethes. She really does wonder how many of these strings he is pulling, how much control he has over the way they are all dancing to his tune.

So, yeah, in case it wasn't clear – her head's working a little better, these days. She always does cope better with political crises than personal ones, and averting the last war has to be the ultimate political crisis. She should have known that opening up the Earth anomaly stone would bring Wonkru here at once, and now the people of Bardo and the people of Sanctum are fighting against each other – and sometimes even amongst themselves. Losses have been few, so far, but with such determined and foolish leaders on both sides, she's pretty certain that things can only get worse.

There's another reason her head is working better, too. She and Bellamy are on cooperative and companionable terms, even if things are not exactly rosy. But that's _fine_ , she decides. Their relationship has never been a straightforward one. The earnest messiness of it all is one of the things she likes best.

He approaches her where she sits at the campfire, their first night on Earth.

"You were right." He says. He sounds tired, she thinks, and those shadows persist beneath his eyes.

"About what?" She asks, perplexed.

He sits heavily on the ground at her side. "I thought this was how we got to peace. I thought we were stopping the fighting. But this is just another damn war, isn't it?"

She nods, sad. She finds no joy in being right about that.

"Aren't you going to say you told me so?" He prompts her, with a slight bitterness.

She sighs, dares to lean into his side a little. "No. I'd rather have a hug."

She's not sure whether that's breaking or believing in him. Maybe it's a bit of both. Either way, he's reaching an arm around her shoulders and holding her tight, his cheek resting on the top of her head. She decides there and then that it doesn't much matter whether this is faith or falling apart. She's allowed to crumble occasionally - she's only human, for all that fate seems determined to make her forget it.

"I don't want this war." He murmurs, almost tentative. "So – if you've got any bright ideas to stop it, and if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know." His voice cracks, there, on that desperate plea to be useful, to be needed. To be her right hand man once more.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

"I'll keep you updated. But I've got nothing, right now."

He doesn't answer that. He just keeps hugging her, and she takes strength from it.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

Not when Bellamy's got her back, anyway. She finds herself feeling rather more optimistic, as the moments stretch out and they're still sitting at the campfire. All they have to do is stop this war, and then they might finally have lasting peace. She could settle down with Madi and live her life. She could carry on patching up her dysfunctional relationship with Bellamy, one hug at a time.

All they have to do is stop this war.

They've tackled bigger challenges, before now, and she has faith that they can manage this, too.

…...

Clarke is beyond desperate to stop the war, but she's still working on a plan. She thinks the simplest thing to do is to take out Sheidheda and Cadogan, and hope to speak sense in the power vacuum left behind. Earth is more than big enough for all of them. This is just fighting for fighting's sake, and she's sick of it.

Then she gets word that Bellamy has been hurt.

She runs too quickly to the med tent. She knows that anyone who sees her will become suspicious that Bellamy has not exactly succeeded in breaking his bonds. But she doesn't care. She refuses to have him die on her, and especially right now when they are just starting to get their friendship back on track.

If she loses him again, it will break her.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She does when she loses Bellamy, and that's that.

When she arrives at the med tent, she is assured that his condition is not so serious after all.

"He's broken his arm. It's not a bad break." The doctor standing over him explains.

Bellamy looks up at her, apologetic. "Sorry. Didn't mean to worry you."

She finds herself smiling softly. "That's OK. I'm just happy to hear it's not serious. If it's a broken arm, I can set it myself?" She offers.

Bellamy nods right away, but the doctor – from Bardo, of course – looks dubious.

"Just let me cut these robes out of the way." He insists, setting to them with the sheers. Clarke can live with that – the robes are filthy, and beyond that they are a symbol of everything she hates about her recent conflict with Bellamy. She's more than happy for the doctor to get rid of them, and then she can set his arm.

Bellamy, on the other hand, seems less happy. He freezes, a panicked look in his eye.

"Hang on. Just let me – there's something in the pocket." He explains in a hurry.

He reaches into the pocket with his uninjured hand, clasps something in his fist. Clarke only gets the briefest glimpse of it, but that's enough to be sure.

He's holding her mother's ring.

She doesn't say anything about it. She can't – there's a potentially hostile stranger right there, getting Bellamy out of his ruined robes. There are a bunch more strangers on the other side of the tent, and although they're all occupied with their own tasks and injuries, they're still there.

But she can _think_ about it. She thinks about it far too hard, mind galloping at a mile a minute as she tries to figure out why the hell he's holding her mother's ring.

The _how_ is pretty straightforward. He must have dug it up along with the flame while they were on Sanctum. But the _why_ is a serious puzzle – she doesn't mind admitting it.

Perhaps it's because he thought they would never go back to Sanctum, she wonders. Perhaps he was keeping it safe for her, so that she could bury it again on Earth. That could make sense, although it's more than a little strange, she thinks. Especially considering how rocky their friendship was, at the time he made the choice to take the ring from its resting place.

The doctor pronounces his task done, and leaves Clarke to set Bellamy's arm. Her hands are pretty steady, recently, and it's a task she's done plenty of times before, so she has more than enough concentration to spare to chat with him while she works.

"Are you doing alright?" She asks him softly. "Need any pain relief?"

"I'm fine." He bites out, fist still clenched tight around that ring.

She nods, works in silence for a couple of moments. She tries to work out how to go about asking him what's going on with the ring, but time and again she comes up with nothing. No clever strategy, no perfect words.

She's just going to have to ask.

"What's that in your hand?" She asks, carefully light.

"You know exactly what it is." He mutters.

Why is he being so brusque about this? Is he in more pain than he's letting on? Should she get him some pain medication after all?

Or is there something else at work?

She sucks in a deep breath. "Why do you have my mother's ring?"

For several long seconds, she thinks he will not answer her question. But then he closes his eyes and forces out some frantic words.

"It's for when we forgive each other again. Because we will, right? We always do." He sounds desperate, she thinks, and although he's opened his eyes now he still won't meet her gaze.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

"We always do." She echoes, wondering where this is going.

He nods, jaw still stiff, and continues to explain. "After everything, and after we talked about how we always end up here – I just thought, maybe when we forgive each other we could make it more permanent this time."

She frowns. She considers herself a bright woman, but she's not keeping up here. "More permanent?"

"Yeah." He swallows. "I know that it's not like married couples never disagree. But I was thinking it could be good to have some way of saying that you're it for me. So we can remind ourselves and each other of that, next time we're at odds."

"You think we should get married." She checks, wondering whether this is really happening.

He looks uncomfortable to say the least. "Only if you want. And when we've put this right. And – yeah."

"Even though you're a disciple now?"

He gives a hollow laugh. "I'm not a very good one, am I? I'm sitting here telling you I want to propose one day."

That's it. That's the moment she finally believes it's real. That's the moment a warm smile breaks out across her face, quite without her permission. That's the moment she realises he genuinely does love her, after all those years of wondering whether he ever would or could or had.

_I am asking you to believe in me._

Yeah. That's something she can do, she's pretty sure.

"OK." She tells him easily. "Great. _Perfect_. So – you know – when you're ready, I'll say yes."

He grins, brighter than the sun. That's quite impressive, she thinks, given he's currently having a broken arm set. It makes the shadows beneath his eyes look lighter, somehow.

"Do you think you could give me a clue when you're ready for me to ask?" He requests, somewhere between nervous and joyful, she thinks. "I get that you still need time to process and forgive me and all."

She hesitates. She ought to be sensible here, she thinks. She ought to finish setting his arm, and then finish resolving this war, and then finish taking her people safely to their new homes. Then she can deal with her life and love and happiness. She should cling to her resolve and fix the real problems first.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break_.

She breaks. She breaks in the most glorious of ways, tears of joy and relief spilling from her eyes even as she laughs in sheer delight. She's supposed to be setting Bellamy's arm and her gloved hands are covered in plaster but all the same she leans in for a clumsy hug. Hopefully those disciples on the other side of the tent are too busy having their wounds tended to notice - or maybe she just doesn't care.

"I'm ready now. Or tomorrow or the next day or whenever the hell you want, Bellamy."

"You really mean that?" He asks, disbelief and delight warring on his face.

"Yes."

"But you're still upset. You're still angry with me. I betrayed you."

She shrugs. "Sometimes I get angry with you but that doesn't change the fact I've been in love with you for a hundred and thirty-two years." She looks him right in the eyes, forces herself to adopt a calmer tone. "But if you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you. You're forgiven."

He beams at her, even as tears roll down his cheeks. They're better than the tears she saw on Bardo, she thinks. These are like the tears they shared on that beach back when they were trying to bring down ALIE – they are tears of reconciliation and homecoming.

"So – will you marry me?" He asks, simple and to the point.

"Yes."

More smiling. More laughter. This is a rather pleasant kind of falling apart, Clarke decides – breaking from sheer joy isn't such a bad thing at all.

"Can you hurry up with that arm? I want to get out of here and away from these people so we can make out." He teases, voice light, nodding at the patients and doctors on the other side of the tent.

She gasps in shock. She hasn't known him to joke like that since Etherea, and she doesn't quite know how to process it.

"Clarke? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"No. It's good. I'm with you on that one." She agrees easily. "I just – you caught me by surprise."

"I get that." He swallows. "This whole conversation has caught me by surprise. I love you. So much it scares me sometimes. And I've wanted to marry you for so long. But – are we crazy, to rush into it like this?"

"Is it any more crazy than anything else we've seen or done?" She asks, echoing something of that first conversation they had in her cell on Bardo.

"No. You're right. It's not crazy at all, when you look at it like that." He concludes.

Clarke is almost finished with setting his arm, now. He's still holding the ring, but now his palm is open, as if waiting for her to take ownership of it the moment she removes her gloves. And then they'll get out of here, she supposes, and then – well, anything could happen. What's wrong with a little chaos?

As if reading her mind, Bellamy speaks up. "What next?" He asks.

"I don't know." She admits. "I'd like us not to be fighting a war. And I guess it might be hard for you to decide where your loyalties lie now."

He looks her right in the eyes. "My place is with you. I'll figure out whether that can go along with believing in creatures of light. I'm pretty sure it doesn't mix well with Cadogan and this war but – but we can figure that out together."

She nods. "Yeah. We'll be OK."

"It might be best for me to stay friendly with him for now at least. It might help use stop this war, if I can play the double agent. If – if you trust me to do that, of course."

_I am asking you to believe in me._

"I trust you." She confirms. "I believe in you."

No, hang on. That's not quite right, not quite the message she wants to send. She collects herself, tries again.

"I believe in _us_."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Content note: attempted suicide.


End file.
